Canterbury Tales and Other Poems by Geoffrey Chaucer (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📖

>And so befell, when Phoebus was absent, His wife anon hath for her leman* sent. *unlawful lover Her leman! certes that is a knavish speech.

Forgive it me, and that I you beseech.

The wise Plato saith, as ye may read,

The word must needs accorde with the deed; If men shall telle properly a thing,

The word must cousin be to the working.

I am a boistous* man, right thus I say. *rough-spoken, downright There is no difference truely

Betwixt a wife that is of high degree

(If of her body dishonest she be),

And any poore wench, other than this

(If it so be they worke both amiss),

But, for* the gentle is in estate above, *because She shall be call’d his lady and his love; And, for that other is a poor woman,

She shall be call’d his wench and his leman: And God it wot, mine owen deare brother, Men lay the one as low as lies the other.

Right so betwixt a *titleless tyrant usurper*

And an outlaw, or else a thief errant, wandering The same I say, there is no difference (To Alexander told was this sentence), But, for the tyrant is of greater might By force of meinie for to slay downright, *followers And burn both house and home, and make all plain, level Lo, therefore is he call’d a capitain; And, for the outlaw hath but small meinie, And may not do so great an harm as he, Nor bring a country to so great mischief, Men calle him an outlaw or a thief.

But, for I am a man not textuel, *learned in texts I will not tell of texts never a deal; whit I will go to my tale, as I began.

 

When Phoebus’ wife had sent for her leman, Anon they wroughten all their *lust volage. light or rash pleasure*

This white crow, that hung aye in the cage, Beheld their work, and said never a word; And when that home was come Phoebus the lord, This crowe sung, “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!”

“What? bird,” quoth Phoebus, “what song sing’st thou now?

Wert thou not wont so merrily to sing, That to my heart it was a rejoicing

To hear thy voice? alas! what song is this?”

“By God,” quoth he, “I singe not amiss.

Phoebus,” quoth he, “for all thy worthiness, For all thy beauty, and all thy gentleness, For all thy song, and all thy minstrelsy, *For all thy waiting, bleared is thine eye despite all thy watching, With one of little reputation, thou art befooled*

Not worth to thee, as in comparison,

The mountance* of a gnat, so may I thrive; *value For on thy bed thy wife I saw him swive.”

What will ye more? the crow anon him told, By sade* tokens, and by wordes bold, *grave, trustworthy How that his wife had done her lechery, To his great shame and his great villainy; And told him oft, he saw it with his eyen.

This Phoebus gan awayward for to wrien; turn aside Him thought his woeful hearte burst in two.

His bow he bent, and set therein a flo, arrow And in his ire he hath his wife slain; This is th’ effect, there is no more to sayn.

For sorrow of which he brake his minstrelsy, Both harp and lute, gitern* and psaltery; *guitar And eke he brake his arrows and his bow; And after that thus spake he to the crow.

 

“Traitor,” quoth he, “with tongue of scorpion, Thou hast me brought to my confusion;

Alas that I was wrought!* why n’ere** I dead? made *was not O deare wife, O gem of lustihead, pleasantness That wert to me so sad,* and eke so true, *steadfast Now liest thou dead, with face pale of hue, Full guilteless, that durst I swear y-wis! certainly O rakel* hand, to do so foul amiss *rash, hasty O troubled wit, O ire reckeless,

That unadvised smit’st the guilteless!

O wantrust,* full of false suspicion! *distrust <3>

Where was thy wit and thy discretion?

O! every man beware of rakelness, rashness Nor trow* no thing withoute strong witness. believe Smite not too soon, ere that ye weete why, know And be advised* well and sickerly* consider surely Ere ye *do any execution take any action Upon your ire for suspicion. upon your anger*

Alas! a thousand folk hath rakel ire

Foully fordone, and brought them in the mire.

Alas! for sorrow I will myself slee slay And to the crow, “O false thief,” said he, “I will thee quite anon thy false tale.

Thou sung whilom* like any nightingale, *once on a time Now shalt thou, false thief, thy song foregon, lose And eke thy white feathers every one,

Nor ever in all thy life shalt thou speak; Thus shall men on a traitor be awreak. *revenged Thou and thine offspring ever shall be blake, black Nor ever sweete noise shall ye make,

But ever cry against* tempest and rain, *before, in warning of In token that through thee my wife is slain.”

And to the crow he start,* and that anon, sprang And pull’d his white feathers every one, And made him black, and reft him all his song, And eke his speech, and out at door him flung Unto the devil, which I him betake; to whom I commend him*

And for this cause be all crowes blake.

Lordings, by this ensample, I you pray, Beware, and take keep* what that ye say; *heed Nor telle never man in all your life

How that another man hath dight his wife; He will you hate mortally certain.

Dan Solomon, as wise clerkes sayn,

Teacheth a man to keep his tongue well; But, as I said, I am not textuel.

But natheless thus taughte me my dame; “My son, think on the crow, in Godde’s name.

My son, keep well thy tongue, and keep thy friend; A wicked tongue is worse than is a fiend: My sone, from a fiend men may them bless. defend by crossing My son, God of his endeless goodness themselves Walled a tongue with teeth, and lippes eke, For* man should him advise,** what he speak. because *consider My son, full often for too muche speech Hath many a man been spilt,* as clerkes teach; *destroyed But for a little speech advisedly

Is no man shent,* to speak generally. ruined My son, thy tongue shouldest thou restrain At alle time, but when thou dost thy pain except when you do To speak of God in honour and prayere. your best effort*

The firste virtue, son, if thou wilt lear, learn Is to restrain and keepe well thy tongue;<4>

Thus learne children, when that they be young.

My son, of muche speaking evil advis’d, Where lesse speaking had enough suffic’d, Cometh much harm; thus was me told and taught; In muche speeche sinne wanteth not.

Wost* thou whereof a rakel** tongue serveth? knowest *hasty Right as a sword forcutteth and forcarveth An arm in two, my deare son, right so

A tongue cutteth friendship all in two.

A jangler* is to God abominable. *prating man Read Solomon, so wise and honourable;

Read David in his Psalms, and read Senec’.

My son, speak not, but with thine head thou beck, beckon, nod Dissimule as thou wert deaf, if that thou hear A jangler speak of perilous mattere.

The Fleming saith, and learn *if that thee lest, *if it please thee*

That little jangling causeth muche rest.

My son, if thou no wicked word hast said, *Thee thar not dreade for to be bewray’d; thou hast no need to But he that hath missaid, I dare well sayn, fear to be betrayed*

He may by no way call his word again.

Thing that is said is said, and forth it go’th, <5>

Though him repent, or be he ne’er so loth; He is his thrall,* to whom that he hath said slave A tale, of which he is now evil apaid. which he now regrets*

My son, beware, and be no author new

Of tidings, whether they be false or true; <6>

Whereso thou come, amonges high or low, Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow.”

 

Notes to the Manciple’s Tale

 

1. “The fable of ‘The Crow,’ says Tyrwhitt, “which is the subject of the Manciple’s Tale, has been related by so many authors, from Ovid down to Gower, that it is impossible to say whom Chaucer principally followed. His skill in new dressing an old story was never, perhaps, more successfully exerted.”

 

2. See the parallel to this passage in the Squire’s Tale, and note 34 to that tale.

 

3. Wantrust: distrust — want of trust; so “wanhope,” despair -

- want of hope.

 

4. This is quoted in the French “Romance of the Rose,” from Cato “De Moribus,” 1. i., dist. 3: “Virtutem primam esse puta compescere linguam.” (“The first virtue is to be able to control the tongue”)

 

5. “Semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.” (“A word once uttered flies away and cannot be called back”) — Horace, Epist. 1., 18, 71.

 

6. This caution is also from Cato “De Moribus,” 1. i., dist.

12: “Rumoris fuge ne incipias novus auctor haberi.” (“Do not pass on rumours or be the author of new ones”) THE PARSON’S TALE.

 

THE PROLOGUE.

 

By that the Manciple his tale had ended, The sunne from the south line was descended So lowe, that it was not to my sight

Degrees nine-and-twenty as in height.

Four of the clock it was then, as I guess, For eleven foot, a little more or less, My shadow was at thilke time, as there, Of such feet as my lengthe parted were In six feet equal of proportion.

Therewith the moone’s exaltation, rising *In meane* Libra, gan alway ascend, in the middle of

As we were ent’ring at a thorpe’s* end. *village’s For which our Host, as he was wont to gie, govern As in this case, our jolly company,

Said in this wise; “Lordings every one, Now lacketh us no more tales than one.

Fulfill’d is my sentence and my decree; I trow that we have heard of each degree.* from each class or rank Almost fulfilled is mine ordinance; in the company I pray to God so give him right good chance That telleth us this tale lustily.

Sir Priest,” quoth he, “art thou a vicary? vicar Or art thou a Parson? say sooth by thy fay. faith Be what thou be, breake thou not our play; For every man, save thou, hath told his tale.

Unbuckle, and shew us what is in thy mail. wallet For truely me thinketh by thy cheer

Thou shouldest knit up well a great mattere.

Tell us a fable anon, for cocke’s bones.”

 

This Parson him answered all at ones;

“Thou gettest fable none y-told for me, For Paul, that writeth unto Timothy,

Reproveth them that *weive soothfastness, forsake truth*

And telle fables, and such wretchedness.

Why should I sowe draff* out of my fist, *chaff, refuse When I may sowe wheat, if that me list?

For which I say, if that you list to hear Morality and virtuous mattere,

And then that ye will give me audience, I would full fain at Christe’s reverence Do you pleasance lawful, as I can.

But, truste well, I am a southern man, I cannot gest,* rom, ram, ruf, <1> by my letter; *relate stories And, God wot, rhyme hold I but little better.

And therefore if you list, I will not glose, mince matters I will you tell a little tale in prose, To knit up all this feast, and make